


Ice (Upon a Summer's Day)

by sageness



Category: due South
Genre: Canon - TV, Community: stop_drop_porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-07
Updated: 2006-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he is here now, having let himself into Ray's apartment with the spare key Ray had entrusted to him, because he is still on leave, Diefenbaker is still with the Vecchios, and Inspector Thatcher had made him promise to take his remaining vacation days on pain of an official reprimand if he failed to comply, and where on earth could Ray be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice (Upon a Summer's Day)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Isis &amp; Lomedet for the beta.

It's midnight and Ray feels good, great even, wired and tired at the same time. Tonight was good. They suck, but it's a fun kind of sucking, and they didn't give him near as much shit as he expected about missing their first expo game due to having to chase a group of animal rights activists all over the Lincoln Park Zoo, trying to find the one with the canister of liquid nitrogen and the evil intent. So much fun, that. And Fraser hadn't even been there to up the weird factor.

Only thing not right in the world is the hot water was busted in the locker room at the rink, so his shower's going to have to wait 'til he gets home. There'd been signs up, at least, so they'd just done light drills in half gear. Easy and fun.

  


* * *

Fraser realizes, belatedly, that his last fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth across Ray's hardwood floor is sure to have disturbed Ray's landlady. There is a remote chance that the rhythm has soothed her into a state of hypnosis, but that is probably too much to hope for. Therefore, he sits.

Three and a half minutes later, he scowls and removes his hiking boots, so that he may resume his pacing without fear for Ray's continued tenancy.

He has no idea where Ray could be. He isn't on duty; a simple phone call to the division made certain of that. Granted, he did not call Ray beforehand to inquire as to whether Ray had plans for the evening. All of his attention was focused on escaping the stifling confines of Ottawa as quickly as Inspector Thatcher would permit – and that had taken far, far too long.

But he is here now, having let himself into Ray's apartment with the spare key Ray had entrusted to him, because he is still on leave, Diefenbaker is still with the Vecchios, and Inspector Thatcher had made him promise to take his remaining vacation days on pain of an official reprimand if he failed to comply, and where on earth could Ray be?

He has not called Ray's cell phone; it would be terribly rude to interrupt whatever it is that Ray is doing. Plus, it would be awkward to explain to Ray why he was receiving a call from his own apartment.

He shouldn't be here. He should not have presumed. A small handful of desperate, ill-advised, and adrenaline-fueled dalliances do not imply an actual relationship beyond their professional partnership. And Ray, of course, would never endanger his career in such a way.

The only possibility he can imagine is that Ray is on a date. Ray is an attractive man, after all, and meets new people daily; moreover, Ray did not expect Fraser to return until the weekend, so there is no reason to expect he would merely while away his evening at home.

Perhaps Ray would arrive at any moment, a woman on his arm and only one thing on his mind. Fraser should leave. Before he embarrasses himself beyond recovery and further imperils their partnership.

Fraser returns to the sofa and puts his boots back on.

  


* * *

Ray grabs his small gym bag but leaves his equipment bag in the trunk. His practice jersey is rank; maybe he'll have time for laundry in the morning.

Tomorrow, he's on the board for a second shift stakeout. Guy named Malloy. The wife's a banker and he's a corporate drone, and so far they haven't figured out if he's embezzling and she's getting framed for it, or if it's the other way around. Or maybe there's a third party trying to screw them both over: known associates are still a bust, so… stakeout.

At least he gets to sleep in.

  


* * *

Fraser turns out the little lamp in the living room and walks to the door. The kitchen light is still on, just as Ray had left it. As far as he can tell from the clutter, it looks as though he'd never been here at all. This is good; it would be inappropriate to distract Ray from his date by leaving telltale signs of his visit.

His hand is on the knob when a key turns the deadbolt. Fraser freezes in place. He's caught, at a loss for what to do, and then the knob is turning under his fingers and he's stepping backwards, out of the way of the door.

"Holy shit!" Ray yells, dropping a nylon bag on the floor and pawing at his armpit as if he were wearing his shoulder holster, which thankfully he isn't. "Holy shit, Fraser, you scared the hell out of me!"

"Ah," Fraser says, peering over Ray's shoulder into the hallway, but there doesn't seem to be anyone else there. "Sorry, Ray," he manages, as Ray kicks the door shut and thumbs the bolt.

"What are you doing here? I didn't think you'd be home 'til…what, Sunday?" Ray slings the bag in the general direction of the bedroom, then shoulders past Fraser to the kitchen, where he pours himself a tall glass of water and guzzles it all at once, throat working, head tilted back.

Leaving. Fraser remembers that he should be leaving. He certainly shouldn't be following Ray into the kitchen, eyes fixed upon his throat. But even that isn't what's making his mouth water.

Ray grins as he sets the glass in the sink, then he takes a couple of steps toward Fraser and stops. "You okay there, Frase?" He looks concerned, more so as Fraser takes a deep breath, holds it, and slowly lets his eyes fall shut.

Then Ray really is right there, in his space, holding a hand against his forehead, and Fraser breathes in again, deeper this time, letting his nose pass close, impossibly close, to the bare skin of Ray's neck.

"Talk to me, Fraser," Ray orders. "What the hell is wrong? Are you sick? You don't look sick, but what the hell do I—"

Fraser opens his eyes and says, "Ray, you smell like _ice_." Ray smells like more than ice. He smells like exertion, spilled Gatorade, and something ineffably _Ray_, and the ice – the scent isn't an exact match, but it's close enough to evoke a cold, clear morning, a frozen landscape, skates on a pond.

"Huh?" Ray makes his 'my partner is seriously unhinged' face. "Yeah, uh, men's rec. You know, beer league. I started a few weeks back. You were tied up prepping for the Ottawa thing."

"Ah," Fraser says, realizing that Ray hasn't shoved him away. He decides he might as well attempt another indulgence. "Forgive me," Fraser says, and pulls Ray's forearm up to his face. He inhales deeply again, allowing just the tip of his nose to graze Ray's skin.

"Fraser, you are one seriously strange guy," Ray says, but he doesn't pull his arm away.

Fraser glances up over the line of Ray's arm, and says, "Understood." Then he rotates Ray's wrist and breathes in the scent of the soft skin on the underside of his forearm. His eyes fall shut and his lips part, inhaling as deeply as he can. It's a sharpness on Ray's skin, mixed in with the familiar scent of Ray's sweat. It's the bright, clean smell of bitter cold, nearly metallic in quality, it's – he wants to taste it more than he's wanted anything in a very long time, certainly even more than he wanted to get out of Ottawa.

For a moment, neither of them moves, and then Ray's other hand alights on the side of Fraser's head, holding him still. Ray's thumb glides through the short hair at Fraser's temple as he says, "Ice, huh. From the rink."

Fraser nods, feeling strangely naked for a man wearing all his clothes.

"Kind of like home for you? All of that cold white stuff up there."

Fraser swallows. "Apparently so."

Then Ray's eyes are sparkling back at him, his mouth opening in a wide grin. "Cool. Yeah, Frase, we can work with this."

"Ray?"

"My hands smell like my gloves, I guess, right? Where's it start, here?" Ray asks, touching a finger to the skin above his wrists.

"A little higher," Fraser rasps. Ray's closer now, using his arm to press Fraser back against the edge of the counter. The skin's hot against Fraser's lips. He's closed his mouth; he's biting his tongue.

"You want to taste it," Ray murmurs, planting his feet on either side of Fraser's. Fraser stares back at him, and his eyes feel huge. "Come on," Ray whispers, and Fraser feels Ray's knee against the outside of his thigh.

He can't resist. His tongue moves almost of its own accord, darting out and licking a stripe up the line of Ray's ulna under the skin. It tastes… wonderful. It won't last, especially if he licks it all off, but oh how he wants to.

He doesn't know he's speaking out loud until he hears Ray's voice. "You can. You can have it all, Fraser, all of it." Then Ray's arms are locked around Fraser's shoulders and Ray's mouth is hot and wet against his, kissing hard, allaying any final shred of doubt. "Come on," Ray says again, drawing back. "Bed."

  


* * *

Fraser looks dazed, glazed and punch drunk. It's that look where he forgets to close his mouth, just stands there in stupefied wonder. Ice, huh. Who knew? If he'd known this is all it would take, he would've dug his skates out of the closet a year ago.

Ray sprawls backwards on the bed, scooting backwards with heels and elbows. He kicks off his boxer briefs, kicking them _at_ Fraser, so he'll hurry the hell up and get in the game already. He sees Fraser swallow hard, so he ducks his head and licks his lips, and he feels a little stupid and a little slutty, but he knows Fraser wants this. He knows Fraser wants _him_ for whatever freaky Canadian reason, and maybe he's a little high on that.

Then Fraser's kneeling on the foot of the bed, leaning forward, following his nose, it looks like. He's licking Ray's left knee, which is weird but still feels good. Except Fraser's still got his fucking jeans on.

"Uh-uh," he says, and plants his right foot against Fraser's left shoulder. "Naked don't mean half-dressed."

"Sorry," Fraser rasps out. Then he stands, strips at lightning speed, and crawls back over Ray's legs.

"Good," Ray says, tilting his hips to rub his dick against Fraser's, but Fraser's dodging, scooting to pin Ray's thighs with his own and God, licking. Starting at his belly. He'd gone without an undershirt and his jersey'd flown around him when he got some decent speed going, and Fraser's mouth, holy shit. Licking at him like an ice cream cone.

Then Fraser moves up his chest to the v-neck point of his jersey and up, up into his stubble, all the way up to his chin. "You are so weird – not that I mind," Ray gasps, because tongue on beard is just freaky, but then the tongue is in his mouth, is fucking his mouth fast and deep.

All Ray can do is groan and remind himself that he did ask for this. He told Fraser to take it, and this, this is Fraser definitely taking it. Fraser's straddling Ray's hips, too high to be useful, curling over him, sucking and nuzzling every inch of rink-exposed skin.

It's fucking amazing. Nobody's wanted him like this in eons. Not since the first year with Stella and sex was this miracle they couldn't get enough of. But even that, that was two kids discovering shit. This…God. Ray needs to stop thinking. He doesn't know if it's the ice, or if it's him, or if it's just that Fraser's got his own wacky brand of sanity going. And it doesn't matter. It can't, because Fraser's teeth are nibbling his neck, his tongue is mapping the curve of his ear, inside and out, and it's all Ray can do not to throw Fraser off him and take control.

He wonders if he could. Fraser's got him pinned pretty well, enough so he can't buck his hips, and the arm pressed against Ray's right shoulder means he can't twist much, either.

He tries anyway. He'd forgotten how fucking hot it could be. But Fraser's hold is changing, slipping.

"Roll," Fraser says, and it comes out a growl. He doesn't move off, only spreads his thighs a little more and pushes up, so Ray can spin where he is.

Ray turns over, and with his knees under him he can push up. He finds Fraser's cock with his ass and does his best to capture it between his cheeks and hold it there.

Fraser chuckles against the back of his neck and bites down.

"Fuck!" Ray cries into the pillow. "Fraser, God!" He grinds his cock into the mattress as Fraser licks and sucks short, efficient lines from the edge of his collar up into his hairline. Devouring him. God, devouring him.

Then Fraser's moved back, is hauling his hips up so that Ray's on his knees, and Fraser's mouth comes down on the small of Ray's back. They both groan at the same time, Ray from the feel of Fraser's teeth on him, and Fraser…yeah, that's where he'd slid when Carl had knocked him down blocking, and Fraser's licking every bit of it away.

Then he's gone.

"Mrrph?" Ray says against the bedding. He twists onto his side, and Fraser's sitting back on his knees, dick in his hand and squeezing hard.

"Sorry," Fraser says through gritted teeth. "I need a moment…"

Ray grins and rolls onto his back, wrapping a hand around his own cock. "Take your time," Ray says, and is pleased when it comes out just as smoky and teasing as he wanted.

Fraser eyes him darkly, so Ray spreads his legs wide, sticks two fingers in his mouth, and traces them around his hole.

"Ray…"

Ray pushes in a little. "Get the lube?" he says. He could reach, but giving Fraser something to do will help back him off the edge.

"You're sure?" Fraser asks.

Ray laughs and strokes a little deeper. It's not wet enough to be perfect, but it's still good. "What, does this look like uncertainty to you, Frase?"

Fraser clears his throat and gets the bottle off the nightstand and flips the cap.

"Go ahead," Ray says, "you got a better angle for it."

Ray spreads himself as Fraser's fingers stroke in, deep and unhesitating.

"God, just like that," Ray says, willing himself to relax. He's so fucking hard he can't think, he doesn’t want to think. All he's really sure of is Fraser between his legs, rotating his fingers and making Ray's eyesight go even more wonky than it usually is.

And then Fraser's other hand is cupping Ray's balls tight, pressing them up along his shaft, and that – it's jarring, it doesn't hurt but it's yanking him back. And Fraser's eyes are glittering at him, and he's all but saying _payback's a bitch, isn't it?_ in that supremely Fraserish way of his. And Ray's whole body bucks, then, as he shouts something incoherent at the ceiling.

"Shhhh," Fraser says, bending forward. "The neighbors, Ray."

So Ray swallows down on the next groan, and when he finds breath again, he says, "Now, Fraser. Do it now or so help me, I will not —"

But then Fraser's cock is there, sliding into him hot and wet, and Fraser's big, slick hand is gripping Ray's cock tight, holding on tight as he thrusts in and in and in.

Ray pulls his knees back further and Fraser shifts a little, moves somehow closer and pounds into him deeper.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me, God Fraser, oh my God –" And Ray's gone, his brain's short-circuited or something and all that's left is this wrecked, bucking, flailing thing. Then Fraser's hand starts moving on his dick, and that's it, kablooey.

"Ray!" Fraser shouts, digging his fingers hard into Ray's skin, and then he's shuddering inside him, and sweat's dripping from Fraser's chin onto Ray's come-streaked belly, and then Fraser's collapsing down on top of him.

  


* * *

"Jesus fuck," Ray murmurs a while later. It doesn't sound unhappy.

Lying beside him, Fraser slowly gathers his wits from their state of inchoate mush and turns his head enough to see Ray's face. His eyes are closed; he's smiling.

Fraser takes a deep breath and strokes Ray's forearm with the back of his hand. Ray's arm flops around until his hand finds Fraser's and holds on.

"There a reason we haven't been doing this all the time?" Ray asks, after a minute.

Fraser doesn't say anything.

"Hey, you in there?" Ray asks, rolling over onto his side to face him. His eyes are clouded with concern.

Fraser tries to smile and sees from Ray's skeptical eyebrow raise that it isn't working.

"Fraser, what gives?"

There aren't words for this, or at least not words Fraser knows how to speak to a man with whom he's just shared the most intense sexual experience of his life. Finally, he rolls over onto his side, too, facing Ray, and kisses him. It's not a passionate kiss, but he hopes it says what he can't shape into words.

When they part, Ray's smiling and when Fraser smiles back, it's genuine. "We could," Fraser answers softly.

"Hmm?" Ray asks, distracted.

"Do this all the time," Fraser murmurs. "If you wanted to."

"Yeah?" Ray says, wriggling closer.

"Yeah," Fraser says, and kisses him again.


End file.
